Love
by HerHeadsInTheSky
Summary: The problem with love is that it distorts you. It binds you and frees you, hurts you and almost kills you, but in the end, it's worth it. L x J, one-shot.


**A/N: I read a tremendously sad story today that really resonated with me. Then my boyfriend sent me a friggin' _love __letter_ and I just melted. This just sort of spilled onto the page tonight, and I had to write it (even though I'm working on something else). **

**I'm also thinking of doing a story in epistolary, what do you think? Or maybe this story in James POV? As always, please leave me your thoughts on this one too. I appreciate every review. I truly do.**

The problem with love is that it distorts you. It changes you so wholly and completely that by the time you've muddled though it's mazes and twists and turns and found yourself at it's core, you are no longer recognisable. You feel as if you've been living in the dark, blind and untrained, and are suddenly dragged out into the light, and suddenly everything falls away and you're _free._ You become willing to do anything, _anything_, to protect this freedom.

I'd never really gotten that until I met James Potter.

The endless years of teasing, the arrogant smirk tattooed upon my eyelids that haunted my dreams, the irritation that welled up inside me like a volcano about to erupt (and it did – heated words flew out of me with malicious intent) – this couldn't be love, could it? I'd always thought the answer was a resounding _no._

Love was sweet nothings whispered in intimate silence. It was sneaking off to the astronomy tower at night just to see the stars. It protected, preserved and hoped; love was a million dreams set loose.

And it would never be mine.

It wasn't that I minded per say, because I didn't, not then. I'd roll my eyes and pack love-struck students off to bed with a warning, or even detention, turning my nose up and love, not caring that they had it and I didn't. It simply didn't _matter. _I was ordinary Lily Evans, that's all - prefect, pacifist, and perfectionist. I wasn't interested in the love that raged through the castle, or that war that coursed through the outside world. I was happy. Or, not happy, exactly, but content. I didn't know any better.

What I _did _know was that Potter was the most infuriating boy I had ever met. He'd send me flowers just to see me blush with indignation. He'd hex people in the corridors, knowing I hated it, just so he could stop when I told him, a perverted show of how much he cared. He'd pull outrageous pranks just because he could, then turn and _wink __at __me, _just to make sure I was watching. I hated it, hated _him_ for having this power over me. I'd always react just how he knew I would, and I despised it.

It wasn't until sixth year that I realised I couldn't do without him.

My friendship with Sev had ended with a bang, the explosion shattering my heart into a million shards. My first friend, my _constant,_ in the wizarding world, was suddenly gone. It tore me apart.

It had always been Sev who I turned to, from the very beginning. He was the one who broke the news to me that I was witch, and not merely insane. He explained away the uncertainty that reverberated through my body at the word 'witch', and what it meant to me, to my life. He squashed all my fears. He was my home at Hogwarts. It'd had always been that way. It was all I knew.

And yet…

After our fight, I realised it hadn't been that way for a while. Sev had been slipping through my tenacious fingers, an ugly stranger taking his place in my tight grasp. I clung to him, to my best friend, long after I _knew _he was no longer mine. My last, feeble attempts at denial washed away with a single word.

_Mudblood._

I'd lashed out at James, of course, and walked away.

Later, much later, I realised that somehow, without my noticing it, _this _had become my constant. I'd never feel okay about what happened with Sev, but I no longer felt as if every move I made would fracture my glass heart once more.

From then on, fights between us started at the drop of a hat. It could be anything, an accidental nudge, a too loud laugh, a simple _look_– it didn't matter. I'd attack him constantly, just because I _needed_ to. I needed him to fight back. Craved it. I saw it as a tacit agreement that he'd never leave me like Sev did. It was a test – how much could he put up with before he left me like everyone else? Sev, Petunia… even my own parents were distant with me now. Our fights grounded me, a silent agreement that he would always be there.

Slowly, my anger slipped away. I didn't mean to let it go, but after a particularly explosive argument, I reached for my well of enmity and found it empty. Dry. I simply felt drained, James having taken the brunt of my anger. He shouldered my desperate rage without any sign of leaving, and it tethered me to him with steel cables nothing could ever dissolve.

A more traditional, obvious love began to seep into our relationship, blossoming in the absence of constant vexation. Our steel cables became real, tangible things; bonds and connections linking us with unified trust, intimacy, and interdependence. We began patrolling together, dragging out long evenings to carve our own private sphere in the world, a bubble in which he was the only thing that mattered to me. Our friendship burned away, as did our faults and imperfections, leaving just Lily and James, a love story just waiting to happen.

Sometimes, he'd swoop down and kiss me as he said goodnight in the empty hall before the portrait. I lived for those kisses then; the delicious thrill of being caught kissing the enemy dangling over me. Mostly, it was just a hug.

_Just a hug._

Looking back, I want to laugh at the idea that it could ever be 'just a hug' for James and I. They set the ball rolling, loosed us on our inevitable paths, hurtling towards each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd wrap his arms around me as I buried my head in his neck, marvelling at the way our bodies fitted together so perfectly, as if we've been made for each other. He'd squeeze me tightly, hot breath fanning across my face as we ready to leave each other for the night. Every day it becomes harder to say goodbye.

Then, one night, he leans down further, holding me so tightly he's always that's keeping me upright, and our routine goodnight changes. His eyes shine with the light of a thousand suns behind his glasses, flecked with warmth and comfort and an endless depth that nearly takes my breath away. I know I'm staring at him, drinking in every detail - like the way his hair curls over his eyes in an adorably messy fashion, or how he's biting his lip ever so slightly – but I can't stop. In the dim light of the dusty corridor, James Potter is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

'Lil,' he breathes, his voice feather light and oh-so-soft. 'I love you.'

The words tumble out of him, and for a moment I'm stunned. I've never been good enough for anyone, not even myself, but here this flawless boy is, telling me he _loves_me. The world falls away and it's just me and him, and he's looking at me with that burning expression, and for a second it's so intimate that I know, I just _know, _that I'm his constant too.

'I love you too James. I love you so much.' I say, and I'm a little surprised when I mean it.

I want to scream at myself. _He__'__s __James __Potter, __Lily! __What __are __you __doing? _I realise then that he isn't _James __Potter_ any more, just as I'm not _Lily __Evans._We're not the same people we used to be, scared teenagers clinging to each for consistency as the world collapsed around them. Love has changed us so wholly and completely that neither one of us is recognisable any more. We're _Lily __and __James,_and we're _free._

You have to understand, I never expected any of this. I was plain, ordinary Lily, and content with it. Just Lily, that's all. I'd lucked out with love, gone all the way to the ends of my beliefs and back again, and found happiness.

Now? Now, I am Lily James Potter. I'm in love, and willing to fight to protect it, to protect _him_. I've been distorted so much in the fight to get here, but as I look back along my past and see my discarded self, I have no regrets. The world is teetering on the edge of collapse, an imminent war looming on the horizon that I will proudly take part in to save those I love, and I watch it all happening around me. How can it be that the world chugs on, keeps spinning, when I just want to keep myself in this time forever? I have so much to live for, but then again, that's so much to _die_for too. I'm scared, and not ready for the pain that comes with love. People will die. I _will _get hurt. But as I look at the form of my sleeping husband, light bouncing erratically off his charcoal locks, a single thought echoes in the catacombs of my mind.

Love. It's worth it.


End file.
